


A Bird in Each Hand

by tisfan



Series: MCU Kink Bingo [22]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Condoms, Multi, Oral Sex, PIV Sex, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-23 01:37:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13776918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: Hawkeye and Widow prove to Phil that he's only as old as he feels...





	A Bird in Each Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Bird in Each Hand is a slang term for a 3-way, usually meaning two girls (bird, in the British slang) but in this case, meaning HAWKEYE and Nat (girl) because it’s a bad joke and it’s funny to me, but it might also be a little obscure.

“Do you trust me?”

Clint didn’t even have to look up; he was sorting his arrows. He really needed, eventually, to get some sort of head nerd down at the SHIELD armory. His own personal Q, so to speak. Because really, trying to remember which arrows he’d use and which ones he needed was a pain, so he usually just grabbed a whole pack of each speciality quiver, and then spent most of the night before the mission sorting and loading. If he had his own Q, they’d just hand him a custom quiver, and they’d have, like, spreadsheets or something, to tell them what he was likely to need. “Yes.”

Of course he trusted Nat. The Black Widow. One of the Soviet’s great superspies, one of twenty seven specialty trained in infiltration and assassination. She could break him with her pinkie, if she wanted to. Well, and if she got the drop on him, which was debatable. Clint had been sleeping with one eye open before Nat was even born. They mostly called it a draw, these days. She could lie to him. She could lie to pretty much anyone.

They’d been sleeping together, on and off, for the better part of two years.

She was absolutely and utterly untrustworthy.

He trusted her anyway. It was just the way things were. The sun came up in the east, and Clint Barton trusted Natalia Romanov.

“So,” she said, idly. “I know you’re sleeping with Phil.”

Clint didn’t even freeze. Freezing would be admitting some sort of guilt. There was nothing to feel guilty about. He and Nat weren’t -- couldn’t possibly be -- exclusive. Part of Nat’s damn job often included seducing information out of people. People who later ended up dead, but at the same time, Clint was never sure if that sort of thing made Nick Fury a whoremaster or what. In either case, fucking people was part of her job, but sometimes it was also part of her extra-curricular activities. “Yeah.”

On the other hand, Phil Coulson was their handler. Their direct senior. And while SHIELD tried to ignore what agents got up to in their own time, fraternization wasn’t… precisely against the rules, because honestly, telling a bunch of superspies and specialty agents what to do was pretty much a lost damn cause… it was discouraged.

Being emotionally compromised. Was dangerous, and not just to you, but to everyone you worked with.

Clint was emotionally compromised all over the place anyway, so he didn’t really think it mattered. Nat might think differently.

“So, is this some action I might be able to get in on?” Nat queried. She was brushing her hair. Clint wasn’t sure why, because she was just going to put a wig on in like ten minutes, but sure. Hair brushing. Clint hadn’t done that in a week.

“What is this, a pickup basketball game?”

“One Agent, one handler, no waiting,” Nat said. She gave him a wink. “Come on, you know you want to. Get it while it lasts.”

“Is this a limited time offer, or can, you know, the mission come first?” That was his form of banter. Phil had told him a dozen times or more that it wasn’t funny.

_“You’re not an idiot, Clint,” Phil had said. “I wish you wouldn’t act like one.”_

_“People underestimate me, if they think they’re smarter than I am,” Clint had responded. “Also, people don’t expect much out of dummies. It’s just laziness and efficiency.”_

“I am polling for interest,” Nat said. She fluffed out the wig and checked her look in the mirror.

“Hope you polled Phil first,” Clint said. “‘Cause now I’m gonna be disappointed if he says no.”

“I polled me for interest, first,” she said. “And I decided I was interested. If the two of you together can’t wear me out, it might be time to find new lovers.”

“You’re already banging Phil?” Clint was almost, but not quite offended by that. Not because he minded -- Nat was her own person and Phil was his own person and the fact that either of them were willing to share that person with Clint was pretty much okayfine with Clint. He just hadn’t known.

“A few times. We were bored. Watching Stark build a particle collider is not very interesting after the third time he didn’t create a miniature black hole and destroy the world.”

“You have terrifying opinions about what’s interesting. Okay, I’m in.”

***

“I understand you’re on board for our extra curricular side mission,” Phil said, casually, over comms, like discussing the world’s hottest threesome was just part of the everyday druge of being a Shield agent.

“Ready, willing, and able, sir, just like always,” Clint said.

***

And even then, Nat had to lead him in. She was fearless, shameless, bold and brazen. Also naked. That helped. A lot.

Led him back through the safehouse without a stitch of clothing on, her hair loose around her back. To Phil’s room, which seemed, almost weird. Like, being dragged in front of the boss for a dressing down. Not that Nat couldn’t get more undressed.

Phil was already there, stripped out of his ridiculous suit, wearing just low riding jeans, and his feet were bare. Really, who designed those suits that agents were supposed to run and fight and kick ass in? The fabric legit did not tear, but they were stiff and formal and Clint always liked to get Phil out of it as soon as possible. The man just looked better, a little messed up. Bloody, muddy, sweaty, didn’t matter.

“You want this,” Nat reminded him. “Take it.”

It wasn’t hard to pick Nat up; she weighed like nothing, and what was more, she was athletic and wanted to be picked up. Which meant she helped, shifting her balance and draping herself strategically in his arms. Kinda awesome. Made Clint feel manly and buff. (He was, usually. But it was still nice to _feel_ that way.)

“So, uh,” Phil said, unbuttoning his jeans and shucking them. “You two kids can do all the work, and I’ll just lay here and reap all the rewards?”

Even Clint recognized the shift in Nat’s attention. She went from biting at Clint’s neck and, weirdly and rather successfully, managing to get him out of his shirt without causing him to drop her to staring over at Phil with narrowed eyes.

“No, no, I don’t think that’s going to work for me,” she said. “I’m the one with the bright idea.”

“So, we both make you feel adored? You are, you know that, right?” Clint asked her.

“I’m wonderful, and I know it, yes,” Nat said. “Also, prepared. There’s a box of condoms in the bedside table, and here’s a simple rule so we -- and by we, I mean mostly me -- don’t end up with some sort of UTI: if you switch an orifice, switch the rubber. Got it?”

“Yes ma’am,” Phil said, snapping a sarcastic little salute.

“Still,” she said, thoughtfully, as Clint let her down and she crawled across the bed, letting both men see her at full stretch.

The fact that Clint even had enough of his brain left to pay attention was, in and of itself, a fucking miracle.

“I think that Phil should be running the show,” she said at last. “He thinks he’s old enough to know better. Let’s show him that he’s young enough to do it anyway.”

Phil snorted. “Then we should go back to my original suggestion; I get to lay here while you do all the work.”

Clint had noticed before how he and Nat sometimes engaged in a higher thought pattern, or some low-level form of telepathy on missions. This was a mission, and he knew what she wanted. Before Phil seemed aware of what was happening, they’d tag teamed him; Clint behind him, hands wandering up and down Phil’s muscular form, and Nat on her knees in front of him, licking at the tip of his stiffening cock.

Phil groaned, looked like he might object, but then Nat took him in, and he lost all ability to protest anything.

Clint was watching her, looking down over Phil’s shoulder, red lips wrapped around Phil’s cock. He shivered, pushing against Phil’s back, rubbing, the fabric of his jeans scratchy and constrictive around him. Clint staggered with it, while he was unbuttoning his jeans, letting the zipper down. He shoved his jeans down around his thighs, his drawers with it. That was better, letting his cock free.

Phil’s skin was so warm, so smooth and supple. Clint couldn’t help it, even with his pants around his ankles and his socks still on, as ridiculous as he had to look and as stupid as he felt, he had to touch and kiss and press up against Phil, luxuriating in his heat.

For a while, they just rocked there, Clint pressing against Phil and Phil thrusting into Nat’s mouth, and honestly, because Clint was a good bed partner but not always a great one, it didn’t entire occur to him that Nat wasn’t likely to get off that way until Phil finally staggered back a step.

Clint nearly fell over; his pants still around his ankles and his socks skittering across the hardwood floor.

Clint stamped out of his jeans while Nat got herself situated on the bed. Phil was kneeling between her legs, using one hand to hold her labia spread and his tongue to bring her to shattering whimpers. Clint just watched for a while, the way her face flushed and blossoms of color spread down her pale skin, the little satisfied noises Phil was making. The way Phil’s ass was curved, sticking out prominently, like Clint should, maybe, _do something_ about it.

The lube was on the bedside table, and he had the worst time not balancing the bottle on the triangle of Phil’s back, because really, that was just going to be funny, and Nat had accused him one time of bringing his horrible sense of humor into the bedroom, and he couldn’t quite figure out if she’d meant that in a good way, or not.

The first dollop of lube, he warmed in his hand, then, “You ready for me, Cheese?”

Phil made a huff of exasperation, the vibration of that sending Nat into a little shrieking spiral.

Clint could tell he was doing something right -- or Phil was, at least, because as he circled Phil’s hole, prepping him, opening him up, Nat’s cries got more and more urgent until she rolled back on the bed and wrapped her legs around Phil’s neck, her thighs gripping tight.

It took a few minutes for Nat to recover enough to let go, and Clint took ruthless advantage of it, scissoring and stretching Phil while he was trapped and couldn’t move, until Phil was groaning against Nat’s girlie bits and she was whimpering, oversensitive and overstimulated.

“Excellent,” Clint praised them both, fucking Phil with his fingers and watching as the man struggled to push back into the sensation, toes curling helplessly.

Finally, Nat let Phil’s head go, and Clint pulled Phil up to slap a wet, sloppy kiss on him, tasting Nat’s fluids and stroking down Phil’s body. “Get me a condom,” Clint told Phil, and once he opened it, put a few drops of lube in the bottom. “Here you are, boss.” With Nat’s help, they wrapped Phil up.

Phil shoved into the bed until he was kneeling between Nat’s legs. She spread her thighs, white and inviting. Phil ran his cock over Nat’s opening, just a tease, just brushing her with it, and Clint watched as she fluttered, her thighs quivering at the touch.

Phil levered her forward, thrusting into her, and Nat threw her head back as she took him, meeting Clint’s eyes, watching him watch them. She licked her lips invitingly and Clint pushed over onto Phil, reaching around to fondle one of Nat’s creamy breasts, flicking his finger over the tip until she was twitching between the two sensations.

He had to take care of getting his own condom on, and then put one hand on Phil’s hip to steady him. “Gonna run this train, now, you follow my rhythm,” Clint told him.

He pushed the tip of his cock against Phil’s open hole, waited.

Nat was writhing around under them both, eager for sensation, twisting on Phil’s cock. In turn, that made Phil twitch and rock his hips involuntarily, which was all great fun for Clint, who was getting two sets up twists right up the chain.

Clint moaned wantonly, breathing hot and heavy along Phil’s back. “Come on, don’t move s’much, tryin’ not to hurt you.”

“Doesn’t hurt,” Phil said, his voice slurred with wanting. “Feels good, come on, Hawkeye.”

“Hit the damn target,” Nat piped up. She was gloriously sweaty, her red hair sticking to her face and throat, her breasts bouncing under each thrust.

“Oh, quitcher bitchin’ and hold on to your butt,” Clint snarked, and there went the eye roll again. In fact, Phil twisted his neck to roll his eyes at Clint. Ah, well.

He slammed into Phil, giving him burn and stretch and tight, and oh, god, so slick and hot and…

Phil hissed, rocked his hips, adjusting, then nodded, “I’m good, it’s good, so…”

The three of them moved like a Newton’s cradle of sensation; Clint swinging into Phil, who thrust into Nat, and then Nat arching up, pushing them back until they were rocking together in a tangle of slick bodies.

The burst of heat and pleasure loosened them all up, and then Clint was driving, pushing forcefully, keeping them all moving at the same time, toward some impossible goal of pleasure and passion, toward the goal of growing closer as a team. He met Nat’s gaze over Phil’s shoulder and she smiled at him, sweet and kind and a little bit wicked.

”What, what, what does that look mean?”

He knew that set of her jaw as Nat started clenching; kegels, she called the exercise, for strengthening her pelvic floor. He’d found her doing them one time while she was driving, clenching up and squeezing at every red light, and that had gotten Clint so hot and bothered, he’d ended up fingering her off during traffic, which she had laughingly protested was not the goddamn point, Barton, but other than that, she hadn’t complained.

Subconsciously or otherwise, Phil started clenching with each one of Nat’s gentle throbs, and Clint was backending the whole thing, practically screaming as pleasure shook him.

In the end (ha! pun) he wasn’t sure who came first, or last, as they all kept moving, groaning and sighing together until they collapsed in a pile. Clint shuddered and quakes like a jello snack, his orgasm pushing through him and into Phil with the force of a locomotive.

Clint pushed against the floor to keep himself upright, trying not to slip out and make a mess, but eventually, he had to grab the condom and step back. Phil twisted, reached behind himself and steadied Clint.

“Come on,” Nat said, patting the bed beside herself and looking entirely too chipper and not nearly worn out enough. “Lay down for a few minutes.”

“Few minutes?” Clint’s voice rose plaintively.

“Yeah, don’t even think we’re done with you yet,” Phil said.

“Aw… sex,” Clint started and as two pairs of incredulous eyes moved his way, he managed, “yes.”


End file.
